


Berelain's Bare Shoulders

by gqsa



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Adultry, Angst, Blonde, Blow Job, Childhood Sweethearts, Confession, Cuckolding, Deepthroat, Degradation, Dominance, Dragon reborn, Dreams, F/M, Female Domination, Femdom, Hand Job, Harem, Harsh, Limes and lemons, Love Triangle, Lust, Nightmare, Nipple Play, Nipple Torture, Objectification, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Porn With Plot, Power Dynamics, Princess - Freeform, Queen - Freeform, Rape, Sexual Content, Threesome, Word Porn, bad dream, black hair, caught with pants down, cum dump, dark smut, defiled, gagging, office job, rough, strung up, swallow, tear - Freeform, wet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27384121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gqsa/pseuds/gqsa
Summary: Rand is wracked by dreams as he tries and fails to get some sleep, when the First of Mayene slips into his chambers
Relationships: Berelain sur Paendrag/Rand al'Thor, Rand al'Thor/Egwene al'Vere, Rand al'Thor/Elayne Trakand
Comments: 68
Kudos: 36





	Berelain's Bare Shoulders

Within her robe, Berelain adjusted her dress low about her shoulders. That would leave them bare, exposing more skin than the thin dress already did, but the First of Myene did not have the privilege of propriety. This was politics, and she was Mayene’s tool. It was her _duty_. Instead of flings of romance, family time with her siblings, or literally anything else she wanted, she had committed herself to the mastery of political interactions, acquiring skill and subtlety that most envied. As a result, despite her youth, Berelain had kept her tiny city-state free from the much larger and powerful Tear. Those who judged her use of her bodily gifts as shameful couldn't begin to guess how much juggling, political double-dealing, and sheer cleverness her work for Mayene had required.

And all of that was required tonight, now that the flaming _Dragon Reborn_ held Tear. The delicate balance that she’d held here had vanished in an instant and she had to act before it all crashed down atop her people. She stepped forward, convinced his guards that he’d requested her presence, and slipped into his rooms.

***

Rand finally dozed.

“No one will bother us here,” Elayne said, attacking her laces.

Rand stared, the more so when he realized her gown was lying on the mossy ground. The Daughter-Heir was bending, arms crossed, gathering up the hem of her shift.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in a strangled voice.

“Getting ready to go swimming with you.” She flashed him a smile, and hoisted the shift over her head.

He turned his back hastily, though half wanting not to. And found himself staring at Egwene, her big, dark eyes looking back at him sadly. Without a word she turned and vanished into the trees.

“Wait!” he shouted after her. “I can explain.”

He began to run; he had to find her. But as he reached the edge of trees, Elayne’s voice stopped him.

“Don’t go, Rand.”

She was in the water already, only her head showing as she swam lazily in the middle of the pond.

“Come back,” she called, lifting a slim arm to beckon. “Do you not deserve what you want for a change?”

He shifted his feet, wanting to move but unable to decide which way. What he wanted. The words sounded strange. What did he want? He raised a hand to his face, to wipe away what felt like sweat. Festering flesh almost obliterated the heron branded on his palm; white bone showed through red-edged gaps.

With a jerk, he came awake, lying there shivering in the dark heat. Sweat soaked his smallclothes, and the linen sheets beneath his back. His side burned, where an old wound had never healed properly. He traced the rough scar, a circle nearly an inch across, still tender after all this time. Even Moiraine’s Aes Sedai Healing could not mend it completely. _But I’m not rotting yet. And I’m not mad, either. Not yet_. Not yet. That said it all. He wanted to laugh, and wondered if that meant he was a little mad already.

Dreaming about Elayne, dreaming of her like that… Well, it was not madness, but it was surely foolishness. She’d never looked at him in that way when he was awake. Egwene he had been all but promised to since they were both children. The betrothal words had never been spoken in front of the Women’s Circle, but everyone in and around Emond’s Field knew they would marry one day.

That one day would never come, of course; not now, not with the fate that lay ahead of a man who channeled. Egwene must have realized that, too. She must have. She was all wrapped up in becoming Aes Sedai. Still, women were odd; she might think she could be an Aes Sedai and marry him anyway, channeling or no channeling. How could he tell her that he did not want to marry her anymore, that he loved her like a sister? But there would not be any need to tell her, he was sure. He could hide behind what he was. She had to understand that. What man could ask a woman to marry him when he knew he had only a few years, if he was lucky, before he went insane, before he began to rot alive? He shivered despite the heat.

 _I need sleep_. The High Lords would be back in the morning, maneuvering for his favor. For the Dragon Reborn’s favor. _Maybe I won’t dream, this time_. He started to roll over, searching for a dry place on the sheets—and froze, listening to small rustlings in the darkness. He was not alone.

He emptied himself of thought and emotions, assuming the Void; that much came without effort. Floating in the cold emptiness within himself, thought and emotion outside, he reached for the True Source. This time he touched it easily, which was not always the case.

Saidin filled him like a torrent of white heat and light, exalting him with life, sickening him with the foulness of the Dark One’s taint, like a skim of sewage floating on pure, sweet water. The torrent threatened to wash him away, burn him up, engulf him.

Fighting the flood, he mastered it by bare effort of will and rolled from the bed, channeling the Power as he landed on his feet in the stance to begin the sword-form called Apple Blossoms in the Wind. His enemies could not be many or they would have made more noise; the gently named form was meant for use against more than one opponent.

As his feet hit the carpet, a sword was in his hands, with a long hilt and a slightly curved blade sharp on only one edge. It looked to have been wrought from flame yet it did not feel even warm. The figure of a heron stood black against the yellow-red of the blade. In the same instant every candle and gilded lamp burst alight, small mirrors behind them swelling the illumination. Larger mirrors on the walls and two stand-mirrors reflected it further, until he could have read comfortably anywhere in the large room.

Callandor sat undisturbed, a sword seemingly of glass, hilt and blade, on a stand as tall as a man and just as wide, the wood ornately carved and gilded and set with precious stones. The furnishings, too, were all gilded and begemmed, bed and chairs and benches, wardrobes and chests and washstand. The pitcher and bowl were golden Sea Folk porcelain, as thin as leaves. The broad Tarabon carpet, in scrolls of scarlet and gold and blue, could have fed an entire village for months. Almost every flat surface held more delicate Sea Folk porcelain, or else goblets and bowls and ornaments of gold worked with silver, and silver chased with gold. On the broad marble mantel over the fireplace, two silver wolves with ruby eyes tried to pull down a golden stag a good three feet tall. Draperies of scarlet silk embroidered with eagles in thread-of-gold hung at the narrow windows, stirring slightly in a failing wind. Books lay wherever there was room, leather-bound, wood-bound, some tattered and still dusty from the deepest shelves of the Stone’s library.

Now, where he had thought to see assassins, or thieves, one beautiful young woman stood hesitant and surprised in the middle of the carpet, black hair falling in shining waves to her shoulders. Her thin, white silk robe emphasized more than it hid. Berelain, ruler of the city-state of Mayene, was the last person he had expected.

After one wide-eyed start, she made a deep, graceful curtsy that drew her garments tight. “I am unarmed, my Lord Dragon. I submit myself to your search, if you doubt me.” Her smile suddenly made him uncomfortably aware that he wore nothing but his smallclothes.

 _I’ll be burned if she makes me scramble around trying to cover myself_. The thought floated beyond the Void. _I didn’t ask her to walk in on me. To_ sneak _in_! Anger and embarrassment drifted along the borders of emptiness too, but his face reddened all the same; dimly he was aware of it, aware of the knowledge deepening the flush in his cheeks. So coldly calm within the Void; outside... He could feel each individual droplet of sweat sliding down his chest and back. It took a real effort of stubborn will to stand there under her eyes. _Search her? The Light help me!_

Relaxing his stance, he let the sword vanish but held the narrow flow connecting him to _saidin_. It was like drinking from a hole in a dike when the whole long mound of earth wanted to give way, the water sweet as hon-eyed wine and sickening as a rivulet through a midden.

He did not know much of this woman, except that she walked through the Stone as if it were her palace in Mayene. Thom said the First of Mayene asked questions constantly, of everyone. Questions about Rand. Which might have been natural, given what he was, but they made him no easier in his mind. And she had not returned to Mayene. That was not natural. She had been held captive in all but name for months, until his arrival, cut off from her throne and the ruling of her small nation. Most people would have taken the first opportunity to get away from a man who could channel.

“What are you doing here?” He knew he sounded harsh, and did not care. “There were Aiel guarding that door when I went to sleep. How did you come past them?”

Berelain’s lips curved up a trifle more; to Rand it seemed the room had gotten suddenly even hotter. “They passed me through immediately, when I said I had been summoned by the Lord Dragon.”

“Summoned? I didn’t summon anybody.” _Stop this_ , he told himself. _She’s a queen, or the next thing to it. You know as much about the ways of queens as you do about flying_. He tried to make himself be civil, only he did not know what to call the First of Mayene. “My Lady...” That would have to do. “...why would I summon you at this time of night?”

She gave a low, rich laugh, deep in her throat; even wrapped in emotionless emptiness it seemed to tickle his skin, make the hairs stir on his arms and legs. Suddenly he took in her clinging garb as if for the first time, and felt himself go red all over again. _She can’t mean... Can she? Light, I’ve never said two words to her before_.

“Perhaps I wish to talk, my Lord Dragon.” She let the pale robe fall to the floor, revealing an even thinner white silk garment he could only call a nightgown. It left her smooth shoulders completely bare, and exposed a considerable expanse of pale bosom. He found himself wondering distantly what held it up. It was difficult not to stare. “You are a long way from your home, like me. The nights especially seem lonely.”

“Tomorrow, I will be happy to talk with you.”

“But during the day, people surround you. Petitioners. High Lords. Aiel.” She gave a shiver; he told himself he really ought to look away, but he could as easily have stopped breathing. He had never before been so aware of his own reactions when wrapped in the Void. “The Aiel frighten me, and I do not like Tairen lords of any sort.”

About the Tairens he could believe her, but he did not think anything frightened this woman. _Burn me, she’s in a strange man’s bedchamber in the middle of the night, only half-dressed, and I’m the one who’s jumpy as a cat in a dog run, Void or no_. It was time to put an end to things before they went too far.

“It would be better if you return to your own bedchamber, my Lady.” Part of him wanted to tell her to put on a cloak, too. A thick cloak. Part of him did. “It... it is really too late for talking. Tomorrow. In daylight.”

She gave him a slanted, quizzical look. “Have you absorbed stuffy Tairen ways already, my Lord Dragon? Or is this reticence something from your Two Rivers? We are not so... formal... in Mayene.”

“My Lady...” He tried to sound formal; if she did not like formality, that was what he wanted. “I am promised to Egwene al’Vere, my Lady.”

“You mean the Aes Sedai, my Lord Dragon? If she really is Aes Sedai. She is quite young—perhaps too young—to wear the ring and the shawl.” Berelain spoke as if Egwene were a child, though she herself could not be more than a year older than Rand, if that, and he had only a little over two years on Egwene. “My Lord Dragon, I do not mean to come between you. Marry her, if she is Green Ajah. I would never aspire to wed the Dragon Reborn himself. Forgive me if I overstep myself, but I told you we are not so... formal in Mayene. May I call you Rand?”

Rand surprised himself by sighing regretfully. There had been a glint in her eye, a slight shift of expression, gone quickly, when she mentioned marrying the Dragon Reborn. If she had not considered it before, she had now. The Dragon Reborn, not Rand al’Thor; the man of prophecy, not the shepherd from the Two Rivers. He was not shocked, exactly; some girls back home mooned over whoever proved himself fastest or strongest in the games at Bel Tine and Sunday, and now and again a woman set her eyes on the man with the richest fields or the largest flocks. It would have been good to think she wanted Rand al’Thor. “It is time for you to go, my Lady,” he said quietly.

She stepped closer. “I can feel your eyes on me, Rand.” Her voice was smoky heat. “I am no village girl tied to her mother’s apron, and I know you want—”

“Do you think I’m made of stone, woman?” She jumped at his roar, but the next instant she was crossing the carpet, reaching for him, her eyes dark pools that could pull a man into their depths.

“Your arms look as strong as stone. If you think you must be harsh with me, then be harsh, so long as you hold me.” Her hands touched his face; sparks seemed to leap from her fingers. “I could show you bliss no matter how troubled you found yourself.”

Without thinking he channeled the flows still linked to him, and suddenly she was staggering back, eyes wide with startlement, as if a wall of air pushed her. It was air, he realized; he did things without knowing what he was doing more often than he did know. At least, once done, he could usually remember how to do them again.

The unseen, moving wall scraped ripples along the carpet, sweeping along Berelain’s discarded robe, a boot he had tossed aside undressing, and a red leather footstool supporting an open volume of Eban Vandes’s _The History of the Stone of Tear_ , pushing them along as it forced her almost to the wall, fenced her in. Safely away from him. He tied off the flow—that was all he could think to call what he did—and no longer needed to maintain the shield himself. For a moment he studied what he had done, until he was sure he could repeat it. It looked useful, especially the tying off.

Dark eyes still wide, Berelain felt along the confines of her invisible prison with trembling hands. Her face was almost as white as her skimpy silk shift. Footstool, boot and book lay at her feet, jumbled with the robe.

“Much as I regret it,” he told her, “we will not speak again, except in public, my Lady.” He really did regret it. Whatever her motives, she was beautiful. _Burn me, I_ am _a fool!_ He was not sure how he meant that—for thinking of her beauty, or for sending her away. “In fact, it is best you arrange your journey back to Mayene as soon as possible. I promise you that Tear will not trouble Mayene again. You have my word.” It was a promise good only for his lifetime, perhaps only as long as he stood in the Stone, but he had to offer her something. A bandage for wounded pride, a gift to take her mind off being afraid.

But her fear was already under control, on the outside, at least. Honesty and openness filled her face, all efforts at allure gone. “Forgive me. I have handled this badly. I did not mean to offend. In my country, a woman may speak her mind to a man freely, or he to her. Rand, you must know that you are a handsome man, tall and strong. I would be the one made of stone, if I did not see it, and admire. Please do not send me away from you. I will beg it, if you wish.” She knelt smoothly, like a dance. Her expression still said she was being open, confessing everything, but on the other hand, in kneeling she had managed to tug her already precarious gown down until it looked in real danger of falling off. “Please, Rand?”

Even sheltered in emptiness as he was, he gaped at her, and it had nothing to do with her beauty or her near undress. Well, only partly. If the Defenders of the Stone had been half as determined as this woman, half as steadfast in purpose, ten thousand Aiel could never have taken the Stone. As it stood, he was one protest away from letting Tear fall again, just for her sheer force of will alone.

“I am flattered, my Lady,” he said diplomatically. “Believe me, I am. But it would not be fair to you. I cannot give you what you deserve.” _And let her make of that what she will_.

She placed one slippered foot below her and rose. Finally, the woman saw sense. Rand sighed off a heavy breath and retreated to his desk. If he were to be awake, best he continued his reading—

Rather than letting herself out, the First glided across the room after him. Before he even reached his chair, she placed her hand to his bare chest and pushed him down. Rapt by her audaciousness, Rand stared as the woman descended to her knees before him despite the violence he had only just threatened. She rushed on so as to deprive him of the chance to object. Rand wasn’t sure he had it in him to deny her again. The Stone of Tear had fallen, and Berelain found an already solid length when she uncovered his meagre smallclothes.

Berelain ran a hand up his thigh, across his crotch, and delicately wrapped long fingers around him. For an instant, he thought she was going to pull it to her mouth—she certainly leaned her neck as if to—but she only brought another slim hand across his thighs to his stones.

“Would you like me to stop, Lord Dragon?”

Thoughts of Elayne ran through his head. Thoughts of Egwene, catching him. Running after her in futility. But Berelain ran her hand up his length and back down, and he lowered his gaze to her exposed shoulders and expansive pale bosom. Light, any lower and he’d be able to see all of it. He throbbed in her grip, and she massaged his balls. His precum leaked out and dirtied those slim fingers, and both he and his body knew they’d not like her to stop.

The milk-faced vixen smirked, and her tongue emerged from between those perfect plush lips. She ran it in circles around his exposed head, and the mere contact sent shocks of electricity through him. One so beautiful should never have to perform such acts. Then again, it would be a loss to humanity if such beauty were never seen performing such acts.

She withdrew her tongue and pressed those lips to his head. They flowed like water as they formed to the mould of his hardness. Her tongue reemerged and with it, she painted his precum and her saliva all the way down to his crotch. He could see naught but the crown in her black hair, but below, he could feel her lips kiss the base of him. Her hand worked his balls. And, intentionally or not, his length had slid up between the crook of her shapely jaw and neck, which stroked him with her motions. A happy coincidence, or the woman was far more experienced than he dared learn.

She leaned back and didn’t wipe the wetness he’d left on her cheek and neck. Once again, as if to deprive him the chance to fall from the moment, she immediately took him into her mouth. Light, Rand was no greenvine to be completely taken by a woman blowing him. Egwene had sucked him off many a time as they experimented as kids, but this woman wasn't simply sucking him off. She _made love_ to his cock.

A sigh left her each time she took it in and out.

Her lips gently rested above and below his girth as she used them to stroke him.

She turned her face sideways and used her cheeks as membranes of pleasure, occasionally making him _pop_ out of her mouth.

Like a viper, her tongue repetitively snaked out between his length and her lower lip.

On her upstrokes, her cheeks pulled inward, forming cavities on either side of her gorgeous face. Her strong sucking caused air to rush into her mouth with a kissing sound when she pulled him out, and indeed, on her way back down, she pressed her full lips to his tip in a massive smooch that spread her lips like a flowering bud.

She looked up at him then, as if to ask for his approval of her work, and Rand responded by gently taking her pretty little head into his hands and bringing her face back down around him. He guided her as much as she led him to that imminent void-shattering moment. With each of her sighs, louder they were growing, he groaned, to which she responded with her own moans. She pushed herself deeper than their current stroke, letting him rub on her upper palate, and he could feel her tonsils tickle him. It was too much. He was about to fall over the edge.

Berelain let go of his balls and clutched the base of his length in a death grip. She didn’t stop blowing him, but the rush of sensation that had been building cut off and his climax didn’t come. Confident that she'd suppressed him, she returned her hand to his balls. It tingled with her touch. Her upper palate and tonsils sent twice the shivers down his penis and legs than they had before. By stifling his climax, she'd made him more sensitive, and was working his groans to grunts.

Rand threw his head back, leaning into his chair, and Berelain repositioned to line up with him again. That put her right under his desk—thankfully, since his door burst open. Elayne and Egwene stormed in. Seeing Egwene now made clear how inferior she was as a woman in every way imaginable. To Berelain, at least.

Elayne though, she was gorgeous in her own right. But compared to Berelain, she was a flat-chested prude. Did that neckline have to be so high? One so modest in bosom could at least show a little more than cleavage.

“Are you in the nude behind your desk?” Egwene blurted.

Eyes wide, Rand struggled to find his voice. Berelain didn’t stop sucking, which made it even harder. Placing his arms casually on the desk, Rand managed to say, “Small… clothes…”

Elayne blushed.

“You could at least be embarrassed to be seen by two young women like that!” Egwene said, even though she was in _his_ room! “Anyway, I have something to say. First, was Berelain here?”

Rand hastily shook his head. “Sent her away…”

For some reason, Elayne was the one who looked relieved.

“Good,” Egwene said. “Then I’ll not waste more time. I love you like a brother, and that’s that.”

Berelain giggled in a tone so low only he could hear. She was enjoying being down there while Rand’s supposed lovelife fell apart. She didn’t know how relieved Rand was to hear Egwene say that.

“I love you like a sister, too,” Rand said. “You have no idea how much this means to me—”

Berelain must have been surprised at his answer, because she halted for a second. When she resumed, rand groaned softly.

The two girls frowned at him, then looked to each other as if that sound had been a sob and Rand was trying to cover his hurt. Well, better they think it was that. It did actually hurt to be rejected, irrational though it was.

“I’m sorry, Rand,” Egwene said, lowering her head dramatically. “But that’s the way it is. Elayne has something to say to you. I’ll leave her to it. Goodbye.”

She stalked off, and Elayne held onto her arm. She was nervous and didn’t want to be left alone. What could it be that she wanted to say? Egwene shared some words under her breath and left, and Elayne turned back to Rand, hands in balls of determination.

“Rand, do you... like me?”

“Like you?” he frowned. “Of course, I like you, my Lady. I like you very much, my Lady.”

She pursed her lips as if there was something he did not understand at all. Berelain seemed to understand, for she responded to Elayne with a _gulp_. Of his dick. He went past her upper palate now, past her tonsils. He felt corrugated roughness at the back of her throat and Light was it the best thing he’d felt in his life.

“I am fond of you, Rand.”

“Hmm?” Rand said absently. “What was that?”

“I am _fond_ of you,” she asserted. “More than fond.”

“I… I am also fond”—Light, it felt so good to have his tip squashed by that little throat—“of you.”

“I am not usually so forward. Soon I will have to go, Rand. To leave Tear. I may not see you again for months. I could not go without letting you know how I feel. And I am... very fond of you.”

“Elayne, I am fond of you. I feel... I want...” His cheeks heated, and not due to the fact that it seemed Elayne was asking to sleep with him before she left. But due to the soft hot sighs Berelain made as she throated herself. “Elayne, I don’t know what to say, how to...”

“Rand, I am not asking for... I only wanted you to know how I feel! That is all. I am not Berelain, who would have been wrapped around you by now had you not sent her away.”

Again, Berelain halted. This time, a longer pause. Long enough to make Rand wonder if she was actually hurt by Elayne’s words. Even if she was, Berelain seemed the sort of woman who could be beaten several times without giving up, and soon enough, she dutifully got back to work eating Rand out with not just renewed vigour, but with a doubling down. Rand might have heard a whimper as she did, but it must have been yet another alluring sigh.

“I won’t let that half-dressed snip better me, though,” Elayne said under her breath, unaware that Rand’s training with the void meant he could very well hear her. She moved closer to his table. “Rand... Rand, I want you to kiss me.”

Berelain made her tongue do circles round and round before returning his tip to her throat with a soft, slurpy _glug_.

“Kiss you?” Rand breathed.

He was a lightblinded fool. Elayne, a girl he’d dreamed of stood before him begging for a kiss. He had been asking himself whether he could have what he wanted, and after Egwene all but bowed out herself and handed Elayne over to him, he struggled to focus on her, looking down into his lap, struggling to not spill himself into the beautiful face of another. Those lush lips caressing his length, those large, dark eyes looking up at him in servitude…

He felt compelled to look away, up at the one laying her feelings bare. Daughter-heir of Caemlyn, beautiful in her own right, strawberry blond and lips as lush and pink as Berelain herself. What would it be like to have those lips on his dick?

Berelain leaned forward, fighting for his attention. He could no longer see her eyes, and as she got more and more acquainted with his lap, his tip slid further and further down the roughness of her throat. Her tongue serviced closer and closer to his base as she worked her way down in increments. Each time she bobbed her head, the soft _glurg_ sounds she made and the increasing roughness deeper and deeper into her sent unimaginable tingles through his core. Her muffled work sounded like someone chewing with their mouth open. Elayne frowned, and Rand moved his hand below the table as if to rub his belly.

“Been having trouble with my stomach today…”

“I’m sorry to hear,” Elayne said.

With a sigh of relief, he let his arms relax on his lap—Berelain’s head. Light, her hair was smooth as silk. He pushed her away—her vigour and skilled cock love-making was making him approach climax again, and he could _not_ cum for another woman while Elayne was looking directly at him.

Berelain wouldn’t have any of that. She forced her head against his hands. The struggle made her glucks and glurgs louder. Mounds of spit leaked from her mouth and messed his shorts. If Elayne got close enough to the table she’d see…

“You sure you okay?” Elayne asked. “Come, I can take you to see Nynaeve—”

“I think I just need to lie down.”

“Can I help?”

“That’s all right.”

She considered, likely not wanting to look too overbearing. While she did, Berelain increased her pace, viciously throating herself as if she were trying to prove herself over Elayne.

“Okay,” Elayne said, giving up just like that. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything.” Disappointed, she leaned in for a consolatory peck on his cheek.

Rand’s eyes widened and he scooted forward, lest Elayne see his lap. The dark-haired woman’s head hit the underside of the desk and Rand’s dick went all the way up her throat like a nail pinning her to the desk. That was deeper than Berelain had worked up to, but it was the single most pleasureful stroke he’d ever felt. Beralain gagged like a roaring lion at the same time Elayne’s lips brushed his cheek, and Rand came. Light, he exploded like a boy on his first time.

Elayne looked down for Rand’s belly, but his chest was against the table, blocking it. He rubbed his stomach below her line of sight, wincing to cover the pleasure from showing on his face. Hopefully she couldn’t see his hips sliding back and forth on his chair, thrusting into Berelain. That could ruin everything. He was not going to get caught without a fight.

He was cumming hard, yes, but looking at Elayne… it made perfect sense to grab her, as a distraction or otherwise. Light those lips of hers were every bit as perfect as the ones around his cock. Rand grabbed her face and smashed their lips together. His tongue invaded her mouth, exploring her lushness as he pumped his seed into a gagging Berelain’s face. He could feel her down there forcing herself not to fall back, to take what he gave. He used his grip on Elayne for leverage to thrust into Berelain harder, making her gag until he was dry of ejaculate. Burn him, he felt lighter just with all the fluid of his the woman was swallowing.

Elayne straightened, struck. Hopefully more by the kiss than his loud stomach.

“I feel better already,” Rand said, rubbing below the table—Berelain’s head rather than his stomach. The woman’s hot panting breaths and sloppy mouth still hovered around his softening cock. She’d gotten more than she bargained for. Still, she went to work, licking up the aftermath.

“Mmm,” Rand purred, savouring her warmth.

Elayne blushed as if the pleasure he let show on his face now was thanks to her. She began to speak, fumbling nonsense. “Soon. Again,” she said, backing up and bowing her way out of the room. “Definitely soon.”

Berelain looked up at Rand with those large dark eyes of hers. Burn her for being so gorgeous.

“I told you I could show you bliss no matter how troubled you were.”

“You damn near ruined my chance to court Elayne—”

“You look troubled, my Lord Dragon.” She looked up at him and battered long lashes. “I can show you bliss time and time again, if you please. Elayne will never have to know. Do you think she can do the same?”

Rand froze. Again? And Elayne was precious, yes, but there was no chance she could ever live up to… well, whatever that was that Berelain had done. He could have _that_ again… Have _her_ again… Right now. He began to harden.

The milk-faced vixen’s lips curled into a smirk and she gulped him down into another tour of her throat. But she did not know the darkness Rand fought. His injured side burned, and he was sure his look of want had taken a turn of depravity. He summoned the weaves of Air he had caught the woman up in earlier, tied it around her head, locking his cock into her scared face, and tied off the weave. Then, he used that tight binding of Air to shove deeper and deeper in to her throat.

To his surprise, Berelain’s smirk remained despite her struggles. She used those struggles to massage him from within, even when her body violently—and loudly—tried to expel his cock. Air tried and failed to scrape its way into her lungs and her dress finally fell low enough on her shoulders to expose one bright, plump, pink nipple. Rand took it between his hand and twisted. Like a switch, it turned her moans into cries. But still, she held his gaze with determination in her eyes.

He spilled himself within the perserverant woman. Light but she deserved it. He twisted that soft nipple, and like a knob, it turned up his squirts into her throat and her squeals that massaged more squirts still.

Panting, she and him both fell to the floor, weaves of Air dissipating.

“My Lord Dragon,” she croaked. “In all honesty, never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be the one getting worked up tonight.” She trailed a hand down her curvy side to her crotch, where a drop of wetness darkened her dress. “You surpass expectations.”

Could it be that she liked him? Unlikely, considering the shepherd from the Two Rivers could not have roughed her enough to draw that wetness. It seemed as though she had been laying suggestions when she had said, ‘If you think you must be harsh with me, then be harsh, so long as you hold me.’ How many steps ahead was this woman?

Wet though she was, she rose and lifted her dress high enough to once again cover her nipple. “But, I think you’re done for the night.”

Light, he wasn’t. She could probably make him go again, and again. But, as she walked away, the tremors of pleasure in Rand’s body calmed and he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. She was right. If he let her go now, he could finally get some sleep. So he let her go. _Bless her._

She donned her robe, blew him a kiss, and said as she left, “I think the Lord Dragon will have favourable relations with Mayene for many nights to come.”

***

Berelain walked off from the Dragon Reborn’s rooms feeling surprisingly light on her feet. She hadn’t lied when saying she didn’t expect to get worked up tonight. She never had before; she had just been doing her duty, forsaking what she wanted. But… could she let herself want this? Light but she thought she did. It had taken all of her not to mount Rand right there and make him plant his seed within her.

It seemed like the optimal political move, too. Or was that her womanhood speaking? Never had she been this confused. Then again, she had never considered what she wanted. This felt… surprisingly freeing. Was she allowed to be free? She’d have to think on it by the time she next visited these chambers, because by Hawkwing’s name, she _was_ going to return.

**Author's Note:**

> This one took a monstrous amount of time researching and integrating cannon into the story to do this scene justice. It also burnt me out and made me reconsider my endeavors in this genre. Your support--kudos and comments (positive and negative)--are what have kept me active here despite being swamped in other areas of my life. I'm really thankful of that support; I've learned a lot and have enjoyed interacting with you. I do hope that you will continue to engage with my content; right now, that's what brings me back here.
> 
> That means kudos, what you loved/hated, thoughts, and suggestions. I'll sign out on that note. I hope you enjoyed Berelain's story!


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